Roy,
Thanks for the trip down memory lane to a lost time that only exists in the minds of us ole farts.

I can recall similar trips to Tarboro, N.C., a “big city” compared to Vaughn, to the old family homeplace with the huge magnolia trees and wrought-iron fencing. We’d climb in the ’36 Chevy for a trip downtown to the tobacco warehouses, then on to the slaughter house to pick up the hog for the annual “bar-b-que”. (Summers did not exist without Edgecombe County bar-b-que ).

As we got a little older we dared to hop on the ladders of the boxcars as the train meandered down Main Street only to realize the fear as it picked up steam leaving town. Finally jumping off in the swampy fields leaving a few scrapes which hurt even more when we were forced to dip damaged limbs in the big washtub of turpentine that was a permanent fixture for any cuts or scrapes.
That tub was indispensible for the daily cuts to our bare feet, and one summer was a source of entertainment when the family cat, in an ill-planned approach to a storage shelf, fell back, with the lower portion of its body landing in the turpentine tub, thus providing the cat with motivation to circle the house numerous times voicing its displeasure.

There are also memories of the old smokehouse filled with “outdated” household articles such as the wind-up record player, the pedal-driven sewing machine and the various wash boards and wringers.

I guess our kids feel the same when they see rotary phones and vintage radios, but somehow I fear it’s not the same.

As you reminded us so eloquently, the “Deep South” was a special place.

Gus Bryan
Jasper

* * *

Some years ago, I was talking with a now deceased co-worker (we were about two-three years apart in age), and she keep talking about the good old days.

She mentioned a playground near a hill downtown, and asked if I ever went there to play. My reply was, no.

She kept talking about the many places she hung out in her childhood and asked me if I ever went to any of them? Again I replied, no.

A day later she told me other stories about how she had so much fun visiting this place and that place as a little girl, and once again asked...

"Did you ever go there as a child"? Finally, with caution, I told her...."When I was a child, I couldn't go to any of those places...I wasn't allowed there under penalty of death or jail. Don't you remember how it was in the 50's? Blacks weren't allowed access to the places you went."

She sadly dropped her head and when it raised, I saw a look of hurt in her eyes (and a sense of anger toward me) because I resurrected a memory long forgotten.....privileges she had as a child that I didn't. I had just rained on her parade and she didn't like it.

What she didn't know was the sadness from my flashback was like a tsunami.

How many friends did I miss out on because our pigmentation wouldn't allow us to fraternize?

Scottie Smith